Along with things like canning, knitting, and chicken farming, hunting has seen something of a renaissance lately among the navel-gazing set. The New York Times recently pointed out a new crop of books on the topic from authors who have “largely taken to hunting, they say, for ethical reasons.” Primary among those reasons: a search for a “more intimate connection to one’s food,” as author Steven Rinella put it. That search, and a desire to impress my girlfriend’s father, drove me to set an alarm for 4 a.m. on a recent Saturday to go drop plastic ducks into the Hudson River. And possibly shoot something.

In the pre-dawn dark, with frozen fingers and a runny nose, I felt far less contemplative about the human connection to our food, and far more focused on not falling into the drink nor missing a precious round of coffee. Greg broke out the thermos after we had towed the boat to the river, launched it from a trailer, motored the mile or so to the hunting spot north of the Bear Mountain Bridge, untangled strings of decoys, and dropped them in the water, all in the dark.

“The thing about duck hunting is that it has a lot of moving parts,” Greg explained to me as we sat freezing our toes off under a brilliantly pink sunrise that lit up the Hudson Valley’s western bank. Bear Mountain glowed pink. “Much more than deer hunting, where you basically sit still with a rifle until something walks by.” But you also get to sit in a boat and drink coffee, so it has its benefits.

The authors surveyed by The Times are working out some pretty complicated issues about our relationship to nature as a resource for both nutrition and recreation. That relationship looks to be fascinating more and more people these days. Mark Zuckerberg in 2011 rather famously pledged to eat only meat he killed. And the U.S. Department of Interior’s recent five-year survey found the number of hunters in the United States had increased 9 percent, after dropping steadily for the past 30 years.

But like all resources, not everybody gets an equal share of our nation’s food supply. Hunger persists, as statistics compiled by Feeding America show, with 15 percent of American households classified as “food insecure.” Hunters, in their growing legions, can help alleviate that hunger by donating their kills to organizations that coordinate meat processors and food banks. They mostly deal with venison, since a deer can yield about 40 to 50 pounds of meat while a duck only yields about a pound.

Such organizations operate in 32 states, said Greg Fuerst, the donation coordinator at the Bath, New York-based Venison Donation Coalition (and a different Greg from the one who took me hunting). Since it started in 1993, Venison Donation Coalition has processed and delivered to food banks an average of 37 tons of venison per year, Fuerst said. The amount peaked in 2003, with about 52 tons, and has been up from the average the last couple of years. “We went from 80,000 pounds in 2010 to 88,000 in 2011,” Fuerst said. They consider one serving of venison to be a quarter pound, which means the coalition processed and delivered 352,000 servings last year. In Virginia, a similar group called Hunters for the Hungry processed and distributed 391,922 pounds—about 196 tons—of meat last year.

But as I learned on my own hunting trip, there are no guaranteed results. We saw two ducks in about four hours of hunting and only one, a black duck that Greg shot, will make for good eating.

Game meat, while a valuable source of lean protein for food banks, is not a predictable one. “Our deer donations at this point are down some. We were off last year a few thousand pounds compared to the year before,” said Gary Arrington, special projects coordinator for Virginia Hunters for the Hungry and a former game warden. “Last year, in a single year, our program processed and distributed 391,922 pounds.” But he said this year a combination of fewer deer and a persistently poor economy had driven down donations.

“You never know. I’m a hunter and I was seeing deer in early October and haven’t seen one while out hunting in weeks,” Arrington said. “I was at a conference recently where all the farmers and hunters were saying they hadn’t seen a lot of deer as of late. It could be they’re just eating acorns and aren’t moving around as much.” And those that do bag a deer are apparently less likely to share it. “Maybe hunters are donating less because they’re eating the deer they kill or they’re donating it within their own community. They know someone who lost a job and they’re giving the meat to them. And people who still have jobs are having to put in more and more time at those jobs, so they have less time to hunt.”

Still, for those taking up the sport anew or finding luck in the field where Arrington has not, a venison donation program would be worth considering for at least some of this year’s kill. There’s not really a national program, though Farmers and Hunters Feeding the Hungry comes close, operating chapters in several states. Most states have at least one or more non-profit organizations that do this kind of work, and they’re easy enough to find through a Google search or on your state’s fish and game department website.

As for me, I’m looking forward to some wild duck tacos, but I’m thankful I don’t have to rely on my hunting skills to keep meat on my plate.

Along with things like canning, knitting, and chicken farming, hunting has seen something of a renaissance lately among the navel-gazing set. The New York Times recently pointed out a new crop of books on the topic from authors who have “largely taken to hunting, they say, for ethical reasons.” Primary among those reasons: a search for a “more intimate connection to one’s food,” as author Steven Rinella put it. That search, and a desire to impress my girlfriend’s father, drove me to set an alarm for 4 a.m. on a recent Saturday to go drop plastic ducks into the Hudson River. And possibly shoot something.

In the pre-dawn dark, with frozen fingers and a runny nose, I felt far less contemplative about the human connection to our food, and far more focused on not falling into the drink nor missing a precious round of coffee. Greg broke out the thermos after we had towed the boat to the river, launched it from a trailer, motored the mile or so to the hunting spot north of the Bear Mountain Bridge, untangled strings of decoys, and dropped them in the water, all in the dark.

“The thing about duck hunting is that it has a lot of moving parts,” Greg explained to me as we sat freezing our toes off under a brilliantly pink sunrise that lit up the Hudson Valley’s western bank. Bear Mountain glowed pink. “Much more than deer hunting, where you basically sit still with a rifle until something walks by.” But you also get to sit in a boat and drink coffee, so it has its benefits.

The authors surveyed by The Times are working out some pretty complicated issues about our relationship to nature as a resource for both nutrition and recreation. That relationship looks to be fascinating more and more people these days. Mark Zuckerberg in 2011 rather famously pledged to eat only meat he killed. And the U.S. Department of Interior’s recent five-year survey found the number of hunters in the United States had increased 9 percent, after dropping steadily for the past 30 years.

But like all resources, not everybody gets an equal share of our nation’s food supply. Hunger persists, as statistics compiled by Feeding America show, with 15 percent of American households classified as “food insecure.” Hunters, in their growing legions, can help alleviate that hunger by donating their kills to organizations that coordinate meat processors and food banks. They mostly deal with venison, since a deer can yield about 40 to 50 pounds of meat while a duck only yields about a pound.

Such organizations operate in 32 states, said Greg Fuerst, the donation coordinator at the Bath, New York-based Venison Donation Coalition (and a different Greg from the one who took me hunting). Since it started in 1993, Venison Donation Coalition has processed and delivered to food banks an average of 37 tons of venison per year, Fuerst said. The amount peaked in 2003, with about 52 tons, and has been up from the average the last couple of years. “We went from 80,000 pounds in 2010 to 88,000 in 2011,” Fuerst said. They consider one serving of venison to be a quarter pound, which means the coalition processed and delivered 352,000 servings last year. In Virginia, a similar group called Hunters for the Hungry processed and distributed 391,922 pounds—about 196 tons—of meat last year.

But as I learned on my own hunting trip, there are no guaranteed results. We saw two ducks in about four hours of hunting and only one, a black duck that Greg shot, will make for good eating.

Game meat, while a valuable source of lean protein for food banks, is not a predictable one. “Our deer donations at this point are down some. We were off last year a few thousand pounds compared to the year before,” said Gary Arrington, special projects coordinator for Virginia Hunters for the Hungry and a former game warden. “Last year, in a single year, our program processed and distributed 391,922 pounds.” But he said this year a combination of fewer deer and a persistently poor economy had driven down donations.

“You never know. I’m a hunter and I was seeing deer in early October and haven’t seen one while out hunting in weeks,” Arrington said. “I was at a conference recently where all the farmers and hunters were saying they hadn’t seen a lot of deer as of late. It could be they’re just eating acorns and aren’t moving around as much.” And those that do bag a deer are apparently less likely to share it. “Maybe hunters are donating less because they’re eating the deer they kill or they’re donating it within their own community. They know someone who lost a job and they’re giving the meat to them. And people who still have jobs are having to put in more and more time at those jobs, so they have less time to hunt.”

Still, for those taking up the sport anew or finding luck in the field where Arrington has not, a venison donation program would be worth considering for at least some of this year’s kill. There’s not really a national program, though Farmers and Hunters Feeding the Hungry comes close, operating chapters in several states. Most states have at least one or more non-profit organizations that do this kind of work, and they’re easy enough to find through a Google search or on your state’s fish and game department website.

As for me, I’m looking forward to some wild duck tacos, but I’m thankful I don’t have to rely on my hunting skills to keep meat on my plate.

Neither the United States Department of Agriculture, the Food and Drug Administration, or the U.S. Fish and Wildlife service looks after lions, which means it's legal to sell lion meat here. While other wild game, including deer, are off-limits for the supermarket shelves (except when that "wild" game is raised in captivity), Living on Earth's Ike Sriskandarajah explains in this week's show, the king of the jungle is fair game.

And much of the lion meat can be traced to one Chicago-area butcher, "Czimer's Game and Seafood," who apparently had a run-in with federal investigators. Special Agent Tim Santel told Sriskandarajah:

Well, there was a person in the Chicago area who was seeking to purchase tigers so that he could kill them and sell their various body parts. And the only information or identification they gave me at the time was—all they knew was he owned a snow plow business. So that’s why I named it Operation Snow Plow. In our case, which we dealt with a large number of animals, I would say all but two were born in captivity—either at a roadside zoo, maybe they were a part of a circus act, maybe some animal broker had surplus animals. They came from all walks of life.... We saw just as many or more lions killed in Operation Snow Plow that we saw tigers killed.

The trade in lion meat may eventually be banned. Sriskandarajah says Born Free USA and other groups are hoping to have the lion listed under the Endangered Species Act, which would mitigate some of this troubling trade.

Still, the issue deserve more of our thought and attention, given the thorny legal and moral double standards we have to treating different animals. Besides the prohibition on selling wild meats, take the ban on equine slaughterhouses and our taboo against eating horse. We don't eat dogs. And yet, we can still eat lion. Something's wrong with this picture.

Neither the United States Department of Agriculture, the Food and Drug Administration, or the U.S. Fish and Wildlife service looks after lions, which means it's legal to sell lion meat here. While other wild game, including deer, are off-limits for the supermarket shelves (except when that "wild" game is raised in captivity), Living on Earth's Ike Sriskandarajah explains in this week's show, the king of the jungle is fair game.

And much of the lion meat can be traced to one Chicago-area butcher, "Czimer's Game and Seafood," who apparently had a run-in with federal investigators. Special Agent Tim Santel told Sriskandarajah:

Well, there was a person in the Chicago area who was seeking to purchase tigers so that he could kill them and sell their various body parts. And the only information or identification they gave me at the time was—all they knew was he owned a snow plow business. So that’s why I named it Operation Snow Plow. In our case, which we dealt with a large number of animals, I would say all but two were born in captivity—either at a roadside zoo, maybe they were a part of a circus act, maybe some animal broker had surplus animals. They came from all walks of life.... We saw just as many or more lions killed in Operation Snow Plow that we saw tigers killed.

The trade in lion meat may eventually be banned. Sriskandarajah says Born Free USA and other groups are hoping to have the lion listed under the Endangered Species Act, which would mitigate some of this troubling trade.

Still, the issue deserve more of our thought and attention, given the thorny legal and moral double standards we have to treating different animals. Besides the prohibition on selling wild meats, take the ban on equine slaughterhouses and our taboo against eating horse. We don't eat dogs. And yet, we can still eat lion. Something's wrong with this picture.

The long-held chestnut most deer hunters give animal rights activists is that without hunting, America's deer population would explode to unsustainable heights. "The only relatively efficient means to manage deer herd numbers other than habitat modification is through managing hunter harvest (i.e., contemporary predation)," says the Noble Foundation, a nonprofit advocating for agricultural productivity.

Estimates peg the United States' white-tailed deer population at 20 million, a huge and probably unsustainable leap from an all-time low of 500,000. A new article on Scientific American, however, challenges the notion that the best way of dealing with overpopulation is by culling the herds with gunfire (emphasis ours):

In Defense of Animals (IDA) reports that even permitted sport hunting, under current wildlife management guidelines and outdated land management policies, contributes to deer overpopulation problems. “Currently, there are approximately eight does for every buck in the wild,” the group explains. “Laws restrict the number of does that hunters may kill.” Since bucks will often mate with more than one doe, the ratio of does to bucks “sets the stage for a population explosion.” And open season on both sexes won’t solve the problem, as too many does would die, stranding needy fawns and depleting the reproductive pool—as happened in the early 20th century when deer numbers fell precipitously low. IDA and many other animal protection organizations believe that sport hunting should be banned and that deer populations should be allowed to regulate naturally.

The IDA, an admittedly partial source, fails in explaining how deer populations could "regulate naturally," but if there is a chance that hunting isn't the answer, perhaps the government should consider the wisdom of letting anyone traipse around the woods to kill animals. Besides, it's not just deer dying out there, 1,000 humans are also shot annually in hunting accidents in America and Canada.

The long-held chestnut most deer hunters give animal rights activists is that without hunting, America's deer population would explode to unsustainable heights. "The only relatively efficient means to manage deer herd numbers other than habitat modification is through managing hunter harvest (i.e., contemporary predation)," says the Noble Foundation, a nonprofit advocating for agricultural productivity.

Estimates peg the United States' white-tailed deer population at 20 million, a huge and probably unsustainable leap from an all-time low of 500,000. A new article on Scientific American, however, challenges the notion that the best way of dealing with overpopulation is by culling the herds with gunfire (emphasis ours):

In Defense of Animals (IDA) reports that even permitted sport hunting, under current wildlife management guidelines and outdated land management policies, contributes to deer overpopulation problems. “Currently, there are approximately eight does for every buck in the wild,” the group explains. “Laws restrict the number of does that hunters may kill.” Since bucks will often mate with more than one doe, the ratio of does to bucks “sets the stage for a population explosion.” And open season on both sexes won’t solve the problem, as too many does would die, stranding needy fawns and depleting the reproductive pool—as happened in the early 20th century when deer numbers fell precipitously low. IDA and many other animal protection organizations believe that sport hunting should be banned and that deer populations should be allowed to regulate naturally.

The IDA, an admittedly partial source, fails in explaining how deer populations could "regulate naturally," but if there is a chance that hunting isn't the answer, perhaps the government should consider the wisdom of letting anyone traipse around the woods to kill animals. Besides, it's not just deer dying out there, 1,000 humans are also shot annually in hunting accidents in America and Canada.

This short clip (click to watch in a new window) from a forthcoming episode of the new BBC documentary series, Human Planet, shows the Inuit people of Kangiqsujuaq, near the Hudson Strait, venturing underneath the winter sea ice to harvest mussels. As the narrator explains:

This settlement and a neighbouring community on Wakeham Bay are thought to be the only places where people harvest mussels from under the thick blanket of ice that coats the Arctic sea throughout the winter.

The locals can only do this during extreme low tides, when sea ice drops by up to 12m (about 40 feet), opening fissures through which the exposed seabed—and its edible riches—can be glimpsed.

The cameraman captures the Inuit hunters lowering ladders into the gorgeous blue-green caverns with their carpet of mussels left behind by the retreating tide. Crawling underneath the massive, unstable chunks of ice, they have just half an hour to fill their buckets and find their way back to the surface, before the sea returns. And, in a detail that brings home how dangerous these expeditions really are, the narrator explains that although a look-out keeps watch as the water flows back inland, "warning shouts cannot be too loud in case the echoes bring down the ice."

More clips and schedule details are available at the BBC's website; h/t to Pruned for the link.

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This short clip (click to watch in a new window) from a forthcoming episode of the new BBC documentary series, Human Planet, shows the Inuit people of Kangiqsujuaq, near the Hudson Strait, venturing underneath the winter sea ice to harvest mussels. As the narrator explains:

This settlement and a neighbouring community on Wakeham Bay are thought to be the only places where people harvest mussels from under the thick blanket of ice that coats the Arctic sea throughout the winter.

The locals can only do this during extreme low tides, when sea ice drops by up to 12m (about 40 feet), opening fissures through which the exposed seabed—and its edible riches—can be glimpsed.

The cameraman captures the Inuit hunters lowering ladders into the gorgeous blue-green caverns with their carpet of mussels left behind by the retreating tide. Crawling underneath the massive, unstable chunks of ice, they have just half an hour to fill their buckets and find their way back to the surface, before the sea returns. And, in a detail that brings home how dangerous these expeditions really are, the narrator explains that although a look-out keeps watch as the water flows back inland, "warning shouts cannot be too loud in case the echoes bring down the ice."

More clips and schedule details are available at the BBC's website; h/t to Pruned for the link.

Treehugger has some rather unsettling news: The German zoo Serengeti-Park Hodenhagen has sold three lions to a South African park that offers amateur hunters the chance to hunt prey alongside professionals. The export was possible because African lions are classified as endangered, but not threatened by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora, or CITIES, an international agreement that works to ensure trade of wildlife and plants doesn't endanger their survival.

In spite of assurances that the lions won't be hunted, animal activists are concerned:

According to reports in the German news daily Tagesspiegel, the owner of the Serengeti Park, Fabrizio Sepe, was assured after the German Ministry for the Protection of Nature contacted their partners in South Africa: the animals would be used only for photo-safaris and breeding programs, it was promised. But that has not calmed animal protection groups, who are advocating for stronger protection against zoo animals being sold for breeding if successive generations will be deliberately used to attract people to the sport of killing big cats.

The whole practice of canned hunting, where hunters pay to shoot animals trapped in enclosed spaces, is particularly appalling. Plus, hunting fenced-in prey just doesn't seem to speak highly of the marksman's prowess, does it?

Unfortunately, you don't have to venture as far as South Africa to do some captive hunting. Though it's been banned to varying degrees in many states, others remain without any regulations. Of the more than 1,000 canned hunting preserves on private land in the United States, around 750 of them are located in Texas.

Photo courtesy of Dorothy van Heerden via Paws4life]]>

Treehugger has some rather unsettling news: The German zoo Serengeti-Park Hodenhagen has sold three lions to a South African park that offers amateur hunters the chance to hunt prey alongside professionals. The export was possible because African lions are classified as endangered, but not threatened by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora, or CITIES, an international agreement that works to ensure trade of wildlife and plants doesn't endanger their survival.

In spite of assurances that the lions won't be hunted, animal activists are concerned:

According to reports in the German news daily Tagesspiegel, the owner of the Serengeti Park, Fabrizio Sepe, was assured after the German Ministry for the Protection of Nature contacted their partners in South Africa: the animals would be used only for photo-safaris and breeding programs, it was promised. But that has not calmed animal protection groups, who are advocating for stronger protection against zoo animals being sold for breeding if successive generations will be deliberately used to attract people to the sport of killing big cats.

The whole practice of canned hunting, where hunters pay to shoot animals trapped in enclosed spaces, is particularly appalling. Plus, hunting fenced-in prey just doesn't seem to speak highly of the marksman's prowess, does it?

Unfortunately, you don't have to venture as far as South Africa to do some captive hunting. Though it's been banned to varying degrees in many states, others remain without any regulations. Of the more than 1,000 canned hunting preserves on private land in the United States, around 750 of them are located in Texas.

In 1941, Antonio "Pit" Allard deserted the army to avoid fighting a war that he felt had nothing to do with him. For the duration of the World War II, he spent the summers working as a farmhand; in the winters he lived in solitude as lumberjack in the forests of Eastern Quebec. During those four winters, Pit trapped hares and shot partridges, not as a hobby, but as a means of survival.In the decades following the war, long after he married and relocated and had children-and his children had children-Pit has continued to make an annual hunting pilgrimage to a log cabin in Quebec. According to his grandson, the photographer Alexi Hobbs, "[hunting] reminds him of who he is, where he comes from, and why he is still here today."Last year, shortly after Pit turned 90 years old, he announced that 2009 would be his last year of visiting the log cabin for the annual hunting trip, and he invited his grandson and other family members to come along. Hobbs opted to chronicle the trip with pictures, not only to document an important part of his family history, but also to participate in that process. "When I was taking certain photos, like my grandfather skinning the hare, part of it was almost just make sure I could remember how it's properly done," says Hobbs. "But I'm not looking to make straight documentary work; it has to have an emotional connection."What follows is a selection from Alexi Hobbs's "Hunters and Heirs."

A crossing

Jimmy

Untitled

Untitled

Vincent

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Kettles

Partridges on counter

Marie plucking a partridge

Pit skinning a hare

Untitled

Jean-Guy

Headgear and crucifix

Untitled]]>

In 1941, Antonio "Pit" Allard deserted the army to avoid fighting a war that he felt had nothing to do with him. For the duration of the World War II, he spent the summers working as a farmhand; in the winters he lived in solitude as lumberjack in the forests of Eastern Quebec. During those four winters, Pit trapped hares and shot partridges, not as a hobby, but as a means of survival.In the decades following the war, long after he married and relocated and had children-and his children had children-Pit has continued to make an annual hunting pilgrimage to a log cabin in Quebec. According to his grandson, the photographer Alexi Hobbs, "[hunting] reminds him of who he is, where he comes from, and why he is still here today."Last year, shortly after Pit turned 90 years old, he announced that 2009 would be his last year of visiting the log cabin for the annual hunting trip, and he invited his grandson and other family members to come along. Hobbs opted to chronicle the trip with pictures, not only to document an important part of his family history, but also to participate in that process. "When I was taking certain photos, like my grandfather skinning the hare, part of it was almost just make sure I could remember how it's properly done," says Hobbs. "But I'm not looking to make straight documentary work; it has to have an emotional connection."What follows is a selection from Alexi Hobbs's "Hunters and Heirs."